


It Was No Longer Valuable

by kaulayau



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Humor, Force-Sensitive Hux, M/M, Padawan Armitage Hux, Smuggler Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-13 16:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13574928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaulayau/pseuds/kaulayau
Summary: I won’t have you question my methods.





	It Was No Longer Valuable

**Author's Note:**

> I hate kylux 
> 
> why can’t they be soft 
> 
> (and I can’t believe I’ve made it this far: february ficlet challenge day 4: hiding in the closet) 
> 
> thanks for reading!!!!

“I know you’ll keep an eye on him while you train,” Master Luke had said. “He’s always jumping around the galaxy, causing trouble, so Leia is keeping him on Coruscant for a while. I promise he won’t be out of your sight.” He pressed the keys of his X-Wing fighter into Hux’s hand. He wondered if Master ever flew his own ship. “And whatever you do — _do not_ let him get to these keys. Do _not._ ” The look he gave was flame, felt like flame — he pried through Hux’s mind, just for a split second, but Hux knew how to block it off, like a door. “Good!”

That was yesterday’s lesson, anyway.

Hux had hooked the keys onto his belt. Suddenly he felt a wave of welcoming, deadlocked determination. And yet... “Can’t I go with you?” He had nothing else to do here, anyway.

“In time, Hux. In time.”

Perhaps this was as good as it gets. “All — right, then.”

And Master Luke laughed. “I’m trusting you, okay? We’ll be back in two days — before you’ll know we were ever gone.”

But perhaps he’s bitten off more than he can chew.

Master’s nephew is a brash, bothersome _boy_ — that’s what he hears everyone saying, at least. But Hux is determined to form his own opinion.

“You don’t have a leg,” Ben Solo is telling him. “Did it come like that or did you rip it off yourself?”

He’s inept, he’s violent, he’s — Hux _hates_ him.

That’s his opinion.

Hux can tell that heis trying at charisma, at coercion — but he’s not built for that. He holds a stance as if he’s about to attack, has a violent look in his eyes, a rawness he’s trying to conceal, a fire. Just this fact makes him want to strangle Ben Solo. 

He should have gone on that mission.

New padawans don’t get to go to exciting locales or fight crime syndicates. It’s terrible. They stay behind and _train_ , as Master put it — and part of that training seems to be babysitting. So unfortunately, Hux is stuck with him. That is, until he finds a way to murder him without a paper trail. Or getting expelled from the Order. Or getting killed himself. They say that he is skilled with a blaster… 

Hux pulls at the leather boot on his left (organic) leg and turns to face Ben Solo. He’ll tell him off — something so sharp, so unexpected, so full of vitriol that it will completely repel him from Hux’s presence. 

He takes in a breath. “Yes.” That’s — not what he wanted to say.

“Hmm. Ambiguous. And — intriguing.” Hux wants to swing his (inorganic) leg at him. “Really, tell me.” He signaled with his fingers, as if asking Hux to come forward. “How does that happen? How do you get — robot appendages? I’m asking for a friend.”

Trial two. He’ll hit the mark this time. “A twist of fate.” There. No, that’s just — stupid. That’s so stupid. It’s so far from the truth that it’s disgusting. “I just — don’t have a leg. It’s — not — there.” That’s even stupider. Why is he _stammering_? “A — mechanic — and —”

“That can’t be true,” says Ben Solo, dumbfounded. Is he serious? No, he’s got a smirk on his face. “There has to be a story. Don’t all the Jedi get tragic stories?” All taunting and wry, like the smuggler he is.

He’s not going to think about it. Ben Solo won’t get that reaction from him. “Not — this one.” Hux grits his teeth and gets up. Ben follows him. Now he understands how Master feels with all the younglings. “Not me.”

“What?” He grins, cracked lips and chipped teeth. “Even _I_ have a tragic backstory.” They navigate through the winding paths of the Jedi Temple. What are the odds of losing him somewhere here? “Aren’t you going to ask me what it is?” Not in his favor.

“I  — won’t.” Insufficient. “ _Ben Solo_.” That’s — good enough.

He raises an eyebrow. “Do the padawans talk about me? All my — adventures and exploits?” Maybe if Hux pretends he isn’t here, he’ll grow tired of himself. “Everyone talks about me.” What’s that tone in his voice? “Tell me your name at least, if we’re going that deep.”

“No, I — no. I refuse to entertain you.”

If this fool keeps biting his lip like that, then they’ll get even more cracked. “A shame. How are you to seize opportunity without knowledge? Now I’m a mystery you’ll never beat.” And now would be a very good time to kick him, they’re walking side by side. “What if I’m not who you think I am? What if I’m a thief, or — a scoundrel —” 

“You are —”

“What if I’m a _spy_ for the Dark Side?”

“I —” Hux hates this — “the Dark Side is dead, and I doubt they’d ever even think to enlist you —” 

“And what if _I_ —” he steps in front of Hux, stopping him, lightning in his eyes — “can use the _Force_?”  

But Hux is not falling for it, whatever this is. He refuses to. “You can’t.”

“Really? Is it that constrained? I thought it was hereditary.” Ben shakes his head, and his hair falls in front of his face. “All of you elitist braids are the same.”

What — does that even _mean_. “Braids?”

“Braids.”

He starts walking backwards.

“What are you doing?”

Ben holds up his hand. 

No. No, how is this — how could he be so _distracted_ — the keys, he has the keys — “I’ve always felt inclined to visit the Ileenium System. It’s a lovely place.”

* * *

What has just happened. Hux is simply — standing, patting himself down — how — did he let this — how. This is the one thing he was instructed to prevent and he didn’t. Because — why? What did he — how— what?

Hux is so _vexed_ that he almost forgets about the Force.

Oh. Oh, that’s right.

It might be a perfectly appropriate time to put it to use.

* * *

“You’re very powerful.” Is that jealousy that Hux detects in Ben Solo’s voice? He doesn’t know. And he isn’t quite sure if Ben will be able to tell if Hux looks into his thoughts. “See, look at this.” There’s an adhesive bandage on his palm. 

“Charming.” Even if Hux isn’t sure how to look into thoughts, exactly.

“Metal leg _and_ magic powers.” His eyes go wide and purposeful. “Your potential is — unbounded.” And he laughs, impressively — annoying.

“That’s odd. Your uncle says the same thing.” The keys are hidden in the folds of Hux’s cloak, as safe as they can get. Unless this wretch is as resourceful as what the other padawans say. “Sit still, or I’ll handcuff you.”

Ben regards him, amused. “Jedi can read minds, too.” There’s — no. There’s no way. Hux should calm down. “Can’t they?” He taps his foot. “I’ve always wanted to do that. That’d make my life — ten times easier.”

But it’s not making Hux’s life any easier at all. “Listen to me. I don’t want to hover over you when I could be —” what? Be what? He thinks for something, and has to do it fast — “training.” Good enough.

“Really? By the looks of it —” a once-over — “you don’t train as much as you say.”

“Do you _want_ me to chain you up?”

Hux is growing to hate that smuggler smirk as much as its owner. “By all means,” Ben Solo says, “be my guest.”

* * *

This fool claims to have a room in the temple, reserved especially for him. Hux isn’t going to bother disputing.  

* * *

“What’s the schedule for day two, Braids?” Ben Solo stands, leaning against the wall. If there was something between his teeth — grass, perhaps — the picture would be complete.

Also — Braids?

“Errands,” Hux replies plainly, walking away as fast as he can, as if his instructions are escapable.

But Ben bounds to his side. “Errands?”

“We — rotate every so often.” Why is he saying anything to him. At all. It’s not because he’s — anything. “Padawans need food.” Where are the keys? Does he have the keys? “Padawans need clothes, new shoes, bandages, more mortar to fix the wall after what happened last week with — one of those —”

“Do Padawans need oil for their creaky robotic legs?” 

“I don’t — what?” Here are the keys. Here they are. Wait. No, yes, they’re right here. “What are you saying?”

Ben Solo grins. “Your leg.” There’s a mischievous spark in his eye. Don’t kick his leg — don’t _kick_ his leg — no. Hux pushes Ben’s foot down without lifting a finger. “Don’t — Force — me.” Why. “Your leg is creaking. If it doesn’t stop, I just might stab someone.”

* * *

Master Luke and the other padawans return deep into the evening. “They’re here now.” Is there more? He checks. “They’ve brought… a totem of some sort. From… I don’t know where.”

“Truly? Luke better give me a souvenir this time.” Then his eyes light up. “Did you _feel_ them coming, Braids?”

Hux glares at him. “I hope this all means you’ll _leave me alone.”_

“You wound me.”

* * *

“Glad to see you in one piece, Hux.” Master chuckles, almost knowingly. “He didn’t try to take the keys, did he?”

Hux, reminded, promptly unhooks the keys from his belt and returns them. This — isn’t worth a lie. He’s not going to benefit from it, either way. “He —”

“I didn’t,” Ben Solo interrupts. “Luke, Master — however it is — I did not. I’m surprised you’d even proposition me to do such as thing.” Is that sarcasm? “I can’t even fly a ship, much less — your X-Wing. I’ve never even thought about it.”

“I’m telling your mother.”

“In that case.”

* * *

“Hux,” says Ben Solo. When he walks, there’s a certain type of rhyming, scheming _sway_ to him. Which might have been — looks ridiculous. “Hux.”

“Yes?” Wait.

Ben laughs, mocking. “That’s what Luke said. Is that your name?” He laughs like the fool he is.

“So — so you say.”

“Who would name anyone _Hux?_ ”

“No — Armitage.”

“Repeat that for me?”

“ _Armitage_.” It’s like speaking to a child. “Armitage. Hux.” Should he point to himself or is that stupid? “Armitage.” What is he doing?

“Even worse!” Then he turns the corner, and they separate.

And Hux wonders if his full name is Obi Wan.

* * *

Breakfast. Most of them eat in the designated areas. Hux is here to get his food and — go.

“Did Master throw his nephew on you the other day?”

Is someone speaking to him? “What?” 

A girl, two feet shorter than him, her hair sticking out like hay. Her name is Rose — Hux knows the names of every resident of the temple — and they don’t speak often. There’s an animosity there that they can’t quite comprehend. With everyone, really.

And they say padawans are competitive.

“Three months ago — before you came to the temple — Master did the same thing. Did he tell you you’d be ‘training?’”

“Er — something of that kind.”

Rose rolls her eyes. “Well, that’s what he told me. I couldn’t last a _day_ with that guy. He almost _broke my arm.”_ What is she trying at? _“_ Yeah. And you — how are you even _alive_?”

Hux would like to know that himself. “I —”

“ _Rose!_ ” shouts another girl, entering the room. Paige. She’s good at flight, spends too much time with the starfighters. The two of them are sisters, Hux knows that. “Rose, why are you —” her voice falls to a hiss.  

“But I haven’t even gotten all my food —”

Paige is unconvinced. She looks Hux in the eye, scathing, and pulls her sister away.

* * *

Is all Ben Solo going to eat _bread_? They have plenty of vegetables and fruits to share. And doesn’t he need something to drink? Water? Anything? Is he alive?

It doesn’t matter that Hux has taken barely anything to eat as well. 

But — living things aren’t meant to be this — this foolish.

“Hey.” What? “They’re all afraid of you, you know.” Ben Solo props up his foot.

Hux doesn't have enough confidence in him not to do anything stupid, so he moves away. “You’re nonsense. You don’t know anything about padawans.”

“I’ve been here longer than you. Such a claim is simply — false.” He tears his bread down the middle and throws it into Hux’s tray. “And you don’t eat with the others.”

“No.” He stares at his plate. “The others don’t eat with me.”

* * *

He remembers the corridors of the Supremacy so vividly — sleek, black, and edged, carefully constructed, architecturally sound. Nothing at all like the Jedi Temple. It’s much, much different here — the floors are like the outside earth, and life spills green into the corners like rainfall. It’s full. It was so empty there. The Temple smells like... sunlight. The Supremacy smelled like smoke. 

“Are you done — meditating?” Loud, restless energy in the corner. “Can we leave?”

“Shut up.” Does he know what he’s done? Now his focus is gone.”

* * *

 “But Master,” says Hux, “I — don’t — understand —”

“There is much you do not understand,” he answers sagely. 

So Hux tries at persuasion. “Why can’t I come, too? You have told me yourself — I am fully capable of — any mission.” He isn’t going to win this one. But he’ll try.  “I have a — lightsaber, and you’ve seen me fight. You’re always there.” That’s weak. “You’re bringing nearly everyone else.”

“Everyone else,” reasons Master Luke, “does not have a prosthetic limb to burden them.”

“My leg,” says Hux, “is not — _burdening_ me. I’m — quite well accustomed to it.”

“And after all these years I still wear a glove. You never get used to the part of you that isn’t there.” Master sighs. Hux thinks about his own leg— or, his lack thereof. Sometimes, it feels real, like it’s _there_ , but… “Be patient. Your time will come. But in the meantime, training.” And watching over an uncontrollable idiot. “Hux. Don’t be discouraged. You are not the only one being left behind.”

* * *

 

“The Force is a balance,” says Hux. His lightsaber hisses to life, illuminating the dim and dust of the room — should he call it a room? Water flows like gravity on the walls and streams on the frigid stone floors, collecting in orbiting spheres all around him. They glow with a bluish tint. This is nature.

Ben Solo is sitting on a rock ledge, precariously, tauntingly. It’s making Hux nervous. “Everyone says that. Hux.” 

If he keeps using Hux’s name then eventually it’ll — no. No, he mustn’t break his concentration. That happens too often. “Because it’s true.” When he waves his lightsaber, the light twists. Ben Solo’s eyes burn, flame as they must always have been. “That’s what it is.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Hux steps forward, parries, turns. The water shifts. “It’s the galaxy’s paradox. It gives, but it takes away.” Hux thinks about his leg. No, no, he should be thinking about the Force. So. He moves. “It is destruction, and it is reformation.” There is light. “It is order, and it is chaos.” There is much he doesn’t understand. At least that’s what Master Luke said. “It is hatred, but it is — love.”

For once, Ben Solo doesn’t open his mouth.

So Hux closes his eyes, feels his lungs expand, compress, and wonders if the Force will let him choke to death.

It won’t. It’s strange like that.

He cuts the water, the planets of liquid mass. They divide. It surrounds him, omnipresent. Blue on blue on blue.

* * *

The book he wants _must_ be here — what are the odds that they aren’t? Tomes and scrolls and everything else in between climb the walls and fill every crevice. Knowledge is rightfully revered by the Jedi, Hux has realized, but _sharing_ it, it’s not something they like much.

“Lightsabers are quite the toy,” Ben Solo says, his fire eyes tracing Hux’s waist. Wait. Wait — oh, yes. That’s right. The keys. On his belt. The keys, and. That’s right.

Hux shouldn’t be — like this. “And your point is?”

Ben plucks a book off its shelf and leafs through it, mindless. “I wonder how it is to handle.”

“Then you should use the Force.”

He laughs. Everything in him is burning. “If it only were so easy.” Ben gestures his book — again, _again_ at Hux’s waist. “What’s yours like?”

It’s —” this boy doesn’t deserve an answer from him — “blue.”

“You know I’ve seen it. Don’t act coy with me.” He returns the book to its place. “But I would have thought red.”

That’s — “Oh, Red. Like — my hair. Yes. Very, very funny.”

“Well, I want a red one. And — Kyber crystals, you Jedi use those for the blades —”

“Common knowledge, I’d argue —”

“It’ll be — unspeakable,” Ben says. Hux hope he doesn’t start to speak about it, then. “I want a broken crystal — so the sword itself would be unstable, yeah? And then on the hilt I’d put some sort of exhaust ports, two of them, so that the whole thing doesn’t combust — or —”

“That sounds —” 

“No, no, a whip, but it’s not a whip, a lightsaber — wouldn’t that scare them all away —”

“It’s more serious than —”

“Wait! Wait, I want one that _spins_ — what if you can fly —”

This — is his fate. “Where — do you get these — _idiotic_ ideas?” 

Fire eyes. And then he says, “The same place you get them.” 

Hux doesn’t know how to feel. No. He just hopes that stupidity isn’t contagious like Ben Solo’s laughter. 

Is it real? Is any of it real? He can never tell.

* * *

The temple has a garden — or two, or three, or four, every time Hux comes to tend it the crops are vastly different than what they were the last week — and not enough hands to care for it. “No, no, that’s a Paricha, not a weed — don’t get that — _stop_ —” 

This was a horrible idea.

“Fine. Fine! I give up.” Ben Solo lets himself fall into the greens.

“You’re crushing our dinner. And our lunch.” 

“Unimportant.”

“Smugglers need to work, too.”

“That isn’t true. We make plenty of credits on smuggling.”

“Well, you’re barely a smuggler as is.”

“Ugh.” He turns on his side. “Don’t make me do this.” Hux hears him mumbling, incoherent. He catches something about a creaky leg. “I’ll kill you.”

He needs a rest. “You have nowhere else to go.”

Ben stays in the dirt, sulking. “Don’t _you_ have anywhere else to be?”

It’s a strange thing to ask. Especially after he’s destroyed all the qiuraadish. “N-no. I don’t. Why do you think we’re here? Why do you think I didn’t — lock you in a storehouse compartment, like last time?”

“That was _unjust_ of you, Hux.” He sniffs in the air, exhales it all out. What’s he looking at? The sky? “I would have thought you’d run away from this place, first chance you got.” He's looking at the sky. “You seem like it, anyway.”

* * *

They’ve brought in some new recruits — a band of children, three of them. Two Twi’lek girls and a human boy, escaped from a brothel on Canto Bight. They must be no older than thirteen. 

All the padawans greet them with open arms and lighthearted voices. Hux decides to stay behind.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Ben Solo says, arms crossed. “Say hi to these children.” But he doesn’t. “What — you’re one of these Braids, Braids. You’re a part of this lot.” He has a rough, bitter edge to his voice, nearly undetectable. “Worst one I’ve seen. But still — part of this.”

He’d like to. Or — well — no. He wouldn’t. “Who needs younglings when you’re trailing about?” Already, the padawans are looking his way.

What are they saying?

* * *

Ben Solo puts his fire eyes on him. “What.” He doesn’t say a word. “What?” And now he’s smiling, the fool. “ _What?_ ”

“You try so hard,” he replies.

“Is that supposed to put me at ease?” Hux wants to know. He stops walking. 

“No, but,” says Ben, “you limp. And squeak. More than you think.” 

“And you expect me to think that limping is equivalent to — ‘trying hard?’”

“And this is what I meant by squeaking.”

Hux coughs.

* * *

 They would leave again tomorrow afternoon. All of the, but him. “I want to know why,” Hux tells Master Luke, obstinate. Master ignores him. Hux won’t stand for this. “Master, even the recruits go on missions — you even took those Canto Bight —”

He swivels, his cloak coming after him. “Hux, you are not ready.”

“And they were?” There’s something in his throat, in his chest, scratching to escape. “I am more capable than any other padawan. You say it yourself. _Ben_ says —”

Master stays uncompromising. “Hubris is the Jedi’s downfall.”

“Then take me with you. Once. Just once, even if I fail, and perhaps I’ll learn my lesson —”

“Lessons aren’t learned as easy as you believe.”

“I can’t sit still and watch your nephew forever —”

 “It won’t be forever.”

“Then what will it _be_ —” 

“You _are not ready.”_

His words ring.

As a Jedi Master, any decision he makes is final. But Hux won’t accept it. “It’s like I’ve been ready for so long.” No, he _can’t_. “When… will I be ready?”

“You —” Master breathes out the cold air. He is thinking. “Do you remember the boy who came here with you? The stormtrooper boy?”

FN-2817. Though now Hux supposes he has chosen the name Finn — or the pilot, Poe Dameron, chose it for him. “Yes.” He always remembers. He remembers names, opinions, thoughts. Even if no one suspects him of it.

“You have similar backgrounds, similar fates.” Skywalkers have that scorching, that burning in their eyes. “Do you know the difference between you?”

Hux feels numb. This is how the younglings feel when they’re talking to Master Luke. “No.”

“Hux,” says Master, “he escaped the First Order. On his own accord. You, on the other hand… _had_ to leave.” He doesn’t understand. “Finn decided to stay here. He chose the Jedi way over his own freedom. He could have worked — as a mechanic, as a mercenary — stormtroopers are programmed to perform any task. He has the capability. The drive. But you —” Master gestures as he speaks — “you were a cadet in high standing. What else did you know? Not much than what you had before. Once you came here, you had wouldn’t go anywhere else.” He pauses. “If you hadn’t been — injured, then you wouldn’t have thought to come here.” 

“That’s —” the truth. The truth and he knows it.

“The First Order is still a part of you. And the others know it well. Their wariness and suspicion — is not unfounded.”

It’s almost as if — why did he —

And then Hux catches it.

“I already know that they don’t trust me.” It’s the clearest thing there is. “You could have said — that.”

* * *

“That’s what he told you?” asks Ben, contemplative. “That’s — ha. You’re hopeless.” He scoffs. “Are you really that disgusted with — mundanity?”

“What if I am.” Rocks are levitating around him, water spilling sideways from the floor. Hux is fairly certain he’s doing this on purpose. “It’s not funny.”

“Anything with Luke Skywalker is funny. He’s — a goldmine for humor.” He sits down next to Hux, ambivalent. “Have you _seen_ the man? He looks like — you’ve read about Ach To, haven’t you? He looks like a _Porg_. He sounds like it, too.” Ben lets it settle. Hux doesn’t want to move. “And he talks like one, too. All Braids — former Braids or not — sound like Porgs.” He attempts a Porg cry, unabashed, unaware. It’s deafening. It’s horrific. It’s incredible. He is a fool. He is _such_ a fool. “See? See, Hux, you’re laughing.”  

* * *

“Here.”

“What is this?”

“Consider it — an offering.”

Strange. “All right, but —”

“Oil. Oil for your creaky leg.”

Ben Solo is — the worst.

* * *

There’s a clamor at the doorway. Hux’s steady pace turns into a run — there is shouting, a commotion, an excitement, a stark and bright contrast to the Jedi Temple’s consistent calm. He has never heard so many inexperienced voices at once, never felt the Force so animated. But he’s not one to be in touch the Force, with all the honesty he’s been trained to give. 

But — Ben. The first thing he sees is Ben, his fists raised, ready — no, no, this fool, what is he — there’s a padawan on the ground, hands in front of his face — the boy from Canto Bight —

Hux is grabbing Ben by the shoulder. He doesn’t recall ever coming to his side. “You _idiot_ — what are you _doing?_ ”

His nose is bleeding, but he wipes all the red off his face like it’s snow. Ben Solo is unapologetic. “They were talking about you. They — always talk about you.”

And the cavity in his chest swells with — something. Nothing. “That’s — you don’t just — you’re a fool —”

It’s not the time. The padawans — he knows they’re staring at him, at Ben. They’re not exactly pleased.

Hux grabs Ben Solo by the wrist and sprints through the labyrinth of the temple and drags him to the farthest room he can find.

* * *

He shuts the door with a _slam_.

And Ben is laughing. This _fool_. “Where are we?”

“Be serious.” He examines his surroundings. Old robes. Jackets. Leather and cloth. Broken footwear. “I think — that’s not important. That’s not important. What have you _done?_ ”

“Don’t panic. It’s not the first time this has happened.”

“What — Ben. That was — he was _new_. They’re all partial to that Canto Bight boy. And now they’re — furious at us.”

“At _you_. They’re used to me. But you’re — different. You’re newer than the new people. You’re — less of a Braid than the rest of them, it looks like. If you’d only heard what they said —”

“Who cares what they said? Now they’re going to kill you —”

“And I thought murder wasn’t the Jedi way —”

“These aren’t Jedi, these are _padawans,_ and they are much, much different —”

“How?” They are two inches away from each other, warm. Ben Solo is still laughing. “A Braid is a Braid.” 

“You said I wasn’t a Braid.”

“I said you were _less_ of a Braid. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong — anywhere. Who would take you?”

“The same goes for you.” It’s rougher than he thought it would be. “And then —” his voice folds over. “Then I — don’t — _know._ ”

Ben Solo’s stubborn grin disappears. “Oh.” 

They stay. It has never been silent for this long.

He — doesn’t like this. He doesn’t want to take it. He doesn’t want anything to ever change. “Ben.”

“Hux.”

“I don’t — deserve much.”

And then Ben Solo is laughing again, shoulders shaking, breath ragged. “Is that the truth? Why do you have —”

“Magic powers and a metal leg?”

He’s surprised. “Yes. Magic powers and a metal leg.” Hux wants Ben Solo to keep that awestruck expression on his face.

Why is it so _quiet_ now.

Solemn isn’t in them. Isn’t supposed to be in them. Outsiders don’t get to blend into the quiet.

“Ben?”

“Hux.”

“Kiss — kiss me for a while.”

Oblivious, smug, dull — Hux is stupid. And so is Ben. “You — really? It’s not — that’s illegal.”

“I don’t care about Sacred Texts or — the Jedi, or anything.”

He’s smiling. “Well.” In that case, he must be thinking. “As you wish.” Ben Solo twirls Hux’s braid around his index finger, brings him closer. 

“Wait. How — will I know you’re not trying to steal the keys?”

“That’s just it. You don’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> please forgive me I just really like robot-leg hux


End file.
